Yellow Pages to Moulin Rouge
by Spyre
Summary: There is a phone book, and Moulin Rouge is a dial tone away. Who would you call?


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Disclaimer: I am not a representative nor am I affiliated with Yellow Pages in any way, shape or form. I do not own Christian or the Moulin Rouge. That belongs to Baz!  
  
**Title:** Yellow Pages to Moulin Rouge  
  
**Rating:** PG-13 [language, language, and language]  
  
**Genre:** Humour  
  
**Summary:** It starts out your typical, fantasy fic and descends into ridiculous confusion, going from romance novel to Abbot and Costello to Moonlighting to... phone sex allusions.

  
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**First Call: Christian**  
  
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Daniella picked up the phone, determination and a lingering excitement gracing her action. She looked at the piece of paper again, settled back in her bed and dialed each digit rather ceremoniously, carefully.  
  
This would work. It had to work. What else could she do on a Sunday afternoon with no car and no way to get anywhere important? So, here she was with the thickly bound book upon which was typed "Yellow Pages" and was turned to a red tabbed section near the back.  
  
She held the phone up to her ear, waited with condensed breath and eyes that stared rather hard into the opposite wall (which was covered in Moulin Rouge posters, pictures, articles. You fuckin' name it, babe, and it's there.)  
  
It rang! She bit her bottom lip.  
  
"Hello?" came a decidedly male voice... familiar voice.  
  
She gasped, grinned like an idiot and responded, "May I speak to Christian?"  
  
"This is he."  
  
"Christian... do you live across from Moulin Rouge?"  
  
"Why, yes. Who is this?"  
  
"You don't know me. My name's Dani. I... I'm a huge fan of your work."  
  
"My work?"  
  
"Your work."  
  
"What work?"  
  
"Your play."  
  
"What play?"  
  
"The one you wrote."  
  
"I didn't write a play."  
  
"Wait... what?"  
  
"I apologize, but I'm quite sure I don't know what you're speaking of."  
  
"What part of the movie are you at?" she blurted without thinking.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
She blinked... ^Oh, yeah.^... rephrased her question, "How long have you lived in Paris?"  
  
"I arrived today. How did you get this number?" there was a pause and some rustling sounds, "How is this contraption working... it's not even plugged..."  
  
"So, no one's fallen through your ceiling?"  
  
"No, no one. Wait... Why would that happen?"  
  
"He's narcoleptic."  
  
"Who's narcoleptic?"  
  
"The guy from the ceiling. He's a mean tango dancer, too."  
  
"From the ceiling?"  
  
"Yes, the Argentenian."  
  
"I thought he was narcoleptic?"  
  
"It's possible to be both, now isn't it, Christian? Anyway, how are you?"  
  
"I don't know you, yet you've called me. How did you get this number?"  
  
"You're not gonna let that go, are you?"  
  
"It's just a point of considerable interest."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"How you got my number..."  
  
She dropped her voice, "What're you wearing?"  
  
The inflection in her voice was unmistakable. His eyes went wide and his accent thickened, "I beg your pardon!"

  
  
…………………………………………  
  
**Second Call: Satine**  
  
…………………………………………

  
  
"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected..."

--

  
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**Third Call: Zidler**  
  
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"This is Zidler of the Moulin Rouge. How can I be of service?"  
  
"Yes. I was wondering if you've started rehearsing for Spectacular! Spectacular! yet?"  
  
"We just received the funding last night. Rehearsel won't be until a week or two."  
  
"Just for future reference... Even though I know you're not that bad of a character, I think you're a thoughtless dickhead."  
  
"Madmoiselle!"  
  
"Satine and Christian belong together. You're such a selfish bastard," she sighed at that, memories coming back. Not her own memories... but of the Rouge.  
  
"Excu..." baffled, uncertain voice etching through the phone line.  
  
"End of story..." she cut him off.  
  
"But..." Zidler was in shock.  
  
"Shh... cock sucker."  
  
"WELL, I..."  
  
"Shh... know when you've been beaten."  
  
"I'm hanging u..."  
  
"I say SHHHHH! The show must NOT go on."

---

  
  
…………………………………………  
**  
Fourth Call: Toulouse**  
  
…………………………………………

  
"Hewwo!! This is Towoose."  
  
"Hey, man. This is Dani. Ya don't know me, but I wanted you to know that you rock!"  
  
"Wock? What is wock?"  
  
"It's a thing you cook in… Wait. Egh, sorry 'bout that. I meant that you're cool."  
  
"It is only summew, how can I be coow…"  
  
"Shit. Damnit. I mean that you're a great person."  
  
"Oh, thank you, Dah-nee! You awe so kind!…"  
  
Dani continued, a half smile at her lips as she pulled out a bag of chips, "Yeah. You saved Christian and Satine… sorta."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You don't know Christian, yet?"  
  
"No… Shoowd I?"  
  
"He's the next Bohemian revolutionary, man. He's the god of truth and beauty and freedom and… of course, of love. This must be right before the film…" she tossed a Dorito in her mouth and began chewing ferociously as she lost herself in the plot of the Rouge. She wanted to call Christian again, but after what had happened earlier… maybe she could disg…  
  
"Wew, I want to meet heem. He sounds so vewy int-westing."  
  
"You will. Baz'll see to it…"-- "Gods, that lisp is kiwwing me," she muttered around nacho cheese chips.  
  
"How did you get dis numbew?"  
  
"In the phone book."  
  
"Er… phone book?"  
  
"It's a book… with numbews. DAMNIT… I mean NUMBE**R**S."  
  
"How did you get de book?"  
  
"They throw it on your powch… DAMNIT!"

--

  
…………………………………………  
  
**Fifth Call: Argentiniun**  
  
…………………………………………

  
As the phone rang this time, she licked her fingers free of orange flavouring from the chips she'd eaten previously. She couldn't help humming a Moulin Rouge song… And waited. This was the sixth ring. Where the hell was this guy? Then… there came an answering machine:  
  
"I am soree, but I cannot answer da phun for some reezun. If you will leave a mezzaje, I weel get back to you as.soon.as.posseeblay. BEEEEEP!"  
  
Dani hung up the phone, "Why am I not fucking surprised?" and decided she'd call later rather than leave a "messaje".

--

…………………………………………  
  
**Sixth Call: The Duke**  
  
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The phone was still ringing and she was already at it in a string of spaceless accusations, "YOU FUCKING WEIRDO BASTARD YOU SPLIT UP THE LOVE OF THE MILLENIUM ALL BECAUSE YOUR LITTLE WORM WAS SO GOD DAMN JEALOUS YOU COULDN'T HOLD A FUCKING CANDLE TO CHRISTIA…"  
  
"This is Warner…" came the instant answer as someone picked up the phone, but stopped as he caught the onslaught of verbal abuse and perfect anger.  
  
"YOU GET THAT FUCKING DUKE ON THE PHONE I WANNA TELL THAT BASTARD WHA…"  
  
And the scarred bodyguard hung up.  
  
"…I THINK OF HIM AND HIS STUPID PANSY ASS GOOD FOR NOTHING SONUVABITCH IDIOT JERKOFF…" and as she paused to suck in more breath, she heard the dial tone and gave a huff.  
  
"Think I over did it…" but somewhere down inside, somewhere she refused to go until now… The Duke had been a funny figure at points in the movie… "Doesn't mean he deserves any pity," she growled at her thoughts.

--

  
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**  
Seventh Call: The Love Bird**  
  
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[The Love Bird ((Satine's pet bird)) is in the Elephant in this scene and has a tiny liddle bird phone.]  
  
"Yo, what's the low down?" Dani whispered, intense eyes focusing on nothing in particular, straining to hear the other side.  
  
"Man, they're still dancin'… Oh, wait… Aw, straight up… This is one fly guy… Shazaam! They're close… he's leanin' in, girl…" the bird talked in hushed tones into the tiny bird-phone receiver.  
  
"And? And?!"  
  
"Somethin' about her bein' in loooove… boy, have I heard that a million ti… Aw, wait, dawg… Hell, yes… here it comes… Oh, fuckin' A… he's not The Duke…"  
  
Dani sighed, "I love this part of the movie."

--

  
…………………………………………  
**  
Eighth Call: Christian**  
  
…………………………………………

"Hello?"

"This Christian…?"

"Yes. May I ask who's speaking?"

"Uh… this is Satine."

"No you are not. Satine's here with me. Who **is** this?"

"Er… this is Dani. Don't hang up. I just wanted to apologize if I scared you."

"Scared me? You were rather rude!"

"Well, yes. My hormones got away from me."

"Hor-mones…? [a beat] You're being vulgar again!" he accused.

"Aw, look who has the dirty mind now!" Dani started, a laugh rising in her throat.


End file.
